


five more minutes

by medusa_ix



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, F/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:03:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26030857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medusa_ix/pseuds/medusa_ix
Summary: Three times when all you wish for is five more minutes of time with Bucky. AKA, dating co-stars is complicated, and that’s why you chose to keep your relationship a secret.--Five more minutes is not too much to ask for, and today you decide that the planet could stop spinning on its axis and time could freeze, all for a little more time together before you have to face the reality of your relationship.Fleeting moments, longing looks, lingering touches: a small price to pay to keep the rest of the world from poking and prodding your love, questioning your motives, twisting and warping reality until your unadulterated feelings are but a publicity stunt, until one is an abusive asshole and the other is a serial cheater, and what was once a safe haven becomes the source of all pain and insecurities.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	five more minutes

Five more minutes is all you could ask for every time the clock strikes 7AM and Bucky has to rush out of bed, silky sheets tangling up his legs, tripping over his own feet as he scrambles to put on a t-shirt that he hopes your smell doesn’t linger on; in the darkness he stumbles on the shoes you’ve thrown away in a haste to get undressed, and curses you for drawing the blinds at night before finally sneaking out your hotel room with a whispered ‘see you on set’. Groggy like you always are in the morning, you wait with bated breath for him to text you he’s back in his, unseen by the rest of the cast and crew that swarm the place at 8, your secret safe another morning, before falling back asleep. 

All you want is five more minutes of his chestnut hair sprawled over his pillow, his soft snores and jerky legs, his prosthetic arm weighting on your waist and warmth radiating off of him that compensates for his blanket hogging tendencies.

“Just five more minutes.” he grumbles when the alarm goes off, the same thing he says every morning, the same four words he used to say everyday back in school; just like his mother would drag him out of bed anyways, ignoring his pleads, so do you.

Turning around you press sweet kisses on his forehead and graze his stubble covered cheeks.

“We don’t have five minutes.”, you whisper, “Makeup and hair is coming in an hour.”

Bucky groans in annoyance and buries his face deeper in the pillow, mumbling something about wanting to stay with you all day.

Five more minutes is not too much to ask for, and today you decide that the planet could stop spinning on its axis and time could freeze, all for a little more time together before you have to face the reality of your relationship.

Fleeting moments, longing looks, lingering touches: a small price to pay to keep the rest of the world from poking and prodding your love, questioning your motives, twisting and warping reality until your unadulterated feelings are but a publicity stunt, until one is an abusive asshole and the other is a serial cheater, and what was once a safe haven becomes the source of all pain and insecurities.

But in the darkness of your hotel room, in your little oasis of peace, you’re not a clandestine affair, but a precious secret that’s worth keeping, and all that matters is you and him; there’s no shouting paparazzis, no nosey interviewers, no assuming public, just you and your sweet kisses, Bucky and his delicate touches.

His hands roam over your body, goosebumps spreading behind his soft caresses, heat pooling in your core when he kneads the flesh of your thighs and ass, nipples stiffening when his teeth graze them. 

Five more minutes, and maybe a little more, is all you ask for, just enough time for you to explore his body, tug on his hair, nip his throat and kiss your way downward, careful not to leave any sign of your love, no mark of your sweet possessiveness.

Five more minutes of his tongue delving in your glistening folds, his long fingers circling your bud, of you bucking your hips to meet his thrusts until he’s buried deep inside you, and the burn of him stretching you gives way to pleasure. 

Your head is yanked back when he pulls on your hair, his cock sliding in and out of you as your clit keeps rubbing on the sheets, his hips hitting your ass as he fucks you into the mattress. You squeeze your eyes shut and bite the pillow to muffle the moans and screams erupting out of your mouth.

Your walls clench around him and you feel your orgasm near, pleasure shooting from your core to the rest of your body, toes curling and mind hazy; Bucky follows close behind, his cock swelling as he snaps his hips harder and faster, until he spills inside you, hot release filling you so much you come too, clamping down on him and milking every last drop he gives you. 

These moments as you recover from the explosion in your bodies, these adoring looks when you bask in the aftershock of pleasure, these rare cuddles after making love to you: you don’t get them often. And as most beautiful things in life, they’re not meant to last.

A knock at your door bursts your loving bubble and jolts you back to reality, the harsh reminder of not being able to scream your love at the top of your lungs hitting you like a freight car.

“I got you breakfast.” announces the faint voice of Peter, your PA May’s nephew, the college kid who runs errands for you, brings you coffee and holds your purse when you’re out shopping, the same kid people speculate you’re hooking up with about any time he’s photographed with you, the same way you’re rumored to be sleeping with half of Hollywood.

You and Bucky both sigh, knowing those five more minutes you wish for are delayed yet again, and now you’ll have to find a way to successfully sneak him out of your room.

🎬

Blissfully unaware is how you’d describe the people in your life, always so close to finding out, to walking in on you doing something you’re not supposed to, and yet so far away from the truth, so painfully oblivious that they could never even suspect anything. 

Their blindness makes you delirious with excitement: your love is only yours, you don’t have to share it with anyone else, because you don’t want to, because you’re greedy and selfish like that and because holding hands under the table, sneaking kisses between takes when no one is watching, fucking in the trailers with the door ajar because you secretly want to get caught, is the rush of energy you never knew you needed to feel alive, the fix of adrenaline you can’t live without.

Heated touches, swollen lips, rough hands on your body, open mouthed kisses. Panting, moaning, crying. Fuzzy hair on your sensitive nipples, strong legs between your own. Rough sand underneath you, the sound of the waves that beat on the shore in your ears.

He looks so beautiful under the orange Hawaiian sunset, red faced and disheveled, hair sticking everywhere, his hard length pressed against your core. You feel warmth inside you when he looks at you, when he grazes your skin with soft caresses, when he peppers your neck with kisses. Your heart is beating out of its cage and-

“And, cut!” Pepper, the director, shouts at the top of her lungs, interrupting the magic of the moment, “You guys did amazing!” 

The crew starts packing as Pepper congratulates you, praising your ‘great on screen chemistry’, the kind she’s never seen before, and the realism of each of your touches and looks. You wish you could say you’re that good of an actress, but the truth is when Bucky touches you the rest of the world disappears, you’re not Karina and he’s not Oliver. It’s just the two of you, and sometimes you have to stop yourself right before moaning his name instead of Oliver’s. 

That night he’s in your room again before a movie premiere you’ve both been invited to, with a nicely packaged pink bag, “A gift.” he says holding it up to you, “Wear this tonight. Don’t worry, I washed it before.”

Absolutely not, is the first answer you give when you unwrap the white tissue paper around the present, but as always Bucky manages to be too convincing for your own good: the promise of all the things he can do with his tongue if you behave like a good girl is all it takes for you to change your mind.

At the premiere, you wear the vibrating panties like he’s asked of you.

It’s humiliating in the best way possible the way he smirks watching from afar how you squirm every time he controls the vibration so it’s high enough that you feel an orgasm near, but not fast enough that it seems achievable, a sweet torture he’s subjecting you to as you slowly rub your aching core on the seat whilst struggling to keep a straight face when people talk to you. You’ll both look back to the pictures taken tonight and remember what you were hiding. It’s your dirty little secret, the glances you steal, his hand controlling the device in your panties and increasing the speed every time a man dares talk to you. You’re going out of your mind, desperate to lose control and aware you can’t do that. 

Bucky tries to entertain this interviewer who’s flirting with him, but all he can concentrate on is your thighs clenching and your face glistening in a fine sheen of sweat. He sends you a look, and you don’t even need words or gestures to get up from your seat and head straight to the restrooms where he’ll be meeting in enough time that it won’t seem suspicious.

After all, you’ve perfected the art of sneaking around. 

When you get out of the stalls and back to your seat, eyes half lidded and lips swollen, Natasha smiles, completely oblivious to what just went down in the bathrooms, and the idea adds to the pulsing ache between your legs.

Outside, bodyguards part the crowd, flashing lights blind you, loud voices overwhelm you. You make your way through the shouting paparazzi and fans that ask questions you dread to answer. One day you will, likely on some scripted talk show, reading a speech May will have prepared off the teleprompter.

> _“Fans have been speculating about you and Barnes dating, can you tell us more?”_
> 
> _“There’s been talks about a whirlwind romance between the two of you, both on screen and off.”_

One day you will.

You smile at the cameras, joke with interviewers. Bucky spots you from afar and smiles when your eyes lock together.

Surrounded by hundreds of people or on a desert island, underneath the bright lights of Hollywood or in the darkness of the trailers where you’ve fallen in love, all that matters is him and you.

One day you will, but not today. Today you need five more minutes. Today your secret is still yours, your love is only yours, and you have no intention of sharing.

🎬

You never ask for much, never wish for the moon; you just want five minutes of peace and quiet, five minutes where paparazzi don’t follow you around like hungry hyenas, where you can grab lunch with an old friend and not have journalists speculate about your love life as you eat. 

“So, who is it this time?” Bucky asks in a monotone voice, hands rubbing sunblock on your shoulders.

“Quentin Beck.” you reply drily, scrolling through your Instagram feed. It was Bucky last time, Carol Denvers before him, among an endless list of actors and models.

He hums, “How long?”

“Couple of weeks, maybe months? Who knows.” you shrug, sipping on a margarita, contemplating the beauty of Tony’s private island. Your eyes are met with a horizon of endless blue, sky and ocean fusing into one, resembling Bucky’s eyes; white sand burns the soles of your feet, and a gentle salty breeze blows his hair. 

TMZ reports rumors of you sneaking out of Beck’s hotel room in the early hours of the morning, hours you spent blissfully asleep on Bucky’s chest.

“Not me, I didn’t realize you were dating someone else.” he deadpans, unfolding the beach chair and sitting on it, only for it to collapse on itself, sending him ass first on the ground.

You can’t help the ugly but heartfelt laugh that escapes you at the sight of your hunky boyfriend folded in half, and you only laugh out more when he glares at you.

“I bet you’d help Beck out if he fell on his ass.” he grumbles, struggling to get up.

“I would because he’s my boyfriend, apparently.” you giggle.

The look in Bucky’s eyes would make anyone cower in fear, but you can’t decide whether it turns you on or amuses you. One moment you’re laying on the beach and the next thing you know, Bucky’s hauled you on his shoulder, prosthetic arm keeping you in place as he rushes to the shore. 

The ocean is surprisingly warm and calm, much like his eyes. Forehead against yours, he holds you up so you’re clinging to him like a koala, and you both sway along the gentle waves.

You press your body onto his and he groans in your mouth when you slant your lips against his, kissing him possessively. Your hands are needy and desperate as they roam over his lean body, tug on his hair, reach in his swim shorts and palm his cock, and his touch is bruising on your thighs. You hiss at the stretch of him inside you, and your walls clamp down on him as he bounces you on his cock, grunting filthy promises and sweet praises into your ears.

While he makes love to you in the ocean, the sun kissing your skin and salt clinging to your bodies, you both moving in sync, the rest of the world is speculating on your love life, rumors spreading around like wildfire about who you might be dating, thousands of photos of you and Beck eating together, articles being written about your commitment issues. You wonder which one of your so-called friends would sell you out in a heartbeat, which one of the crew members would out your relationship with no hesitation if they knew.

And the fullness of him inside you and the sweet secret you two share like teenagers hopelessly in love are the biggest fuck you that you could think of.

You never ask for much, only for five minutes of bliss, and among the gentle waves of the ocean and underneath the scorching sun of the tropics, you finally got them.

🎬

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think of it :) feedback is always appreciated.


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